


Shadowboxing In The Dark

by sadbutchhours



Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: But aren't we all, F/F, Flirting, Sexual Tension, and also has a great gaydar, anxious top gwendolyn briggs, graphic depictions of the california coastline, gwen's a little gay for ella fitzgerald, gwendolyn is so good at flirting, mildred's sending her mixed signals tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:02:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27284626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadbutchhours/pseuds/sadbutchhours
Summary: On their way to the oyster bar, Gwendolyn tries to get a read on Mildred. She employs the same tricks she's used for years, the ones that work every time. But Mildred's being difficult. Fortunately, Gwendolyn has never been one to give up on a game halfway through.An imagining of the car ride in episode 2 from Gwendolyn's perspective.
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Comments: 19
Kudos: 94





	Shadowboxing In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> yay! a ratched fic! i wrote this at 2 am last night so. keep your expectations low.  
> if you'd like to listen to the songs mentioned in this fic, they're "i'm beginning to see the light" by ella fitzgerald and "all of me" by billie holliday. the former really reminds me of mildred and the latter of gwendolyn, so i just had to include them.

Gwendolyn Briggs has always been good at getting women in her bed.

Much of it is natural, really -- she’s got a dazzling smile and a politician’s charm, and she’s had years of practice. She’s learned more than a few tricks from the women she fooled around with when she was younger, and she imagines the pretty young things she’s been taking home have picked up a thing or two from her. It warms her heart, the secrets being passed down through generations of people like them. Like _her_.

She’d been scared at first, of course, of the ways she wanted women and the things she wanted from them. That fear still came back sometimes; when she went after the wrong girl or went too far with a younger one. It froze Gwendolyn’s body from the inside out before burning it to ash. 

Over the years she’s developed the ability to read people in all sorts of ways. She can tell when a senator’s being genuine and when he’s lying through his teeth. She can tell when desperate cries of “don’t stop, don’t stop, _fuck,_ Gwendolyn” are high-pitched enough for her to pull away at just the right moment, eliciting a broken whimper from whoever she's lucky enough to have underneath her. And, perhaps most importantly, she can tell whether a woman’s more afraid of Gwendolyn or of herself.

As she steals glances at Mildred on the way down Hwy 1, Gwendolyn finds herself struggling to read the woman’s expression. Back at the hospital she’d seemed so callous and disinterested. But Gwendolyn had met women like her, fearless and cold and utterly detached, and still succeeded in the past. And she had to admit she had pretty good instincts most of the time.

_Won’t there be a gentleman accompanying you?_

Gwendolyn had smiled darkly, hoping to soak the single word in as much meaning as possible. _No._

Now, Mildred’s eyes are unreadable behind her dark sunglasses, and she keeps her hands neatly folded over her purse as she stares at the ocean ahead of them.

“Told you it was a stunner.” Gwendolyn lets the words flow out of her, trusting that they’re the correct ones. In situations like these she finds it easier to let her mouth take the lead before her mind catches up. She tends to overthink, to question herself, and she can’t have that right now.

Mildred’s pretty mouth turns up at the corners. “It certainly is.”

Better than nothing. Gwendolyn presses her arms against the steering wheel, allowing her shoulders to rise as she stretches and rolls her neck. She can’t see Mildred beside her without turning her head, but she _thinks_ she feels her eyes on her. “I do love this particular stretch of highway,” she says softly. “When you’re alone, or at night. It’s a good environment for… thinking.”

“Well, I’m terribly sorry to disturb your alone time,” Mildred responds, and it takes Gwendolyn a moment to realize it’s meant to be a joke, partially because she’s nervous -- imagine that! Gwendolyn Briggs, nervous! -- and partially because Mildred isn’t great at deadpan delivery. Well, Gwendolyn supposes, she is, it’s just that everything she says drips with it.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” she scoffs. “Just as enjoyable with a pretty woman beside me.” This last bit feels a bit too forward, too soon, but what’s Mildred going to do? Leap out of the car?

She doesn’t. Actually, she lets out a strangled noise that Gwendolyn barely recognizes as an embarrassed laugh. 

“I -- thank you.”

Gwendolyn lets silence fall over the car once more, just as they come to Gwen’s favorite part of the drive. For a moment she does wish she was alone so she could pull over, maybe get out of the car and look. They’re up on a cliff lined with wildflowers, and Gwendolyn’s car is just a few feet away from tumbling over and onto the secluded cove below. Careful not to turn the wheel too far, Gwendolyn slows the car around the bend and cranes her neck to look past Mildred at the ice-grey water crashing onto the sand. Supposedly there’s a trail somewhere around here, leading down to the beach, but she’s never had the time to go and look for it. She has the time now, she realizes, and heat floods her body at the thought of being there with Mildred, away from anyone who might find them, what it might be like to lead her down the stairs with a hand in hers, to make some joke about just how _wet_ they’ve both gotten, to press her against the cliff and kiss her. 

But more than anything Gwen likes the chase. She likes the game of gleaning intentions and sly meanings out of conversations like threading a hundred needles, and anyway she’s got her own plans about how and where she’d like the night to end, and as much as the thought excites her, she’s just not sure enough about Mildred yet and such bold moves don’t fit in her scheme. So she turns back to the road and speeds up again once it’s safe.

“Do you mind if I turn on the radio?” Gwendolyn asks. Mildred gives a small shake of her head, still not giving away anything lurking behind those sunglasses. Gwendolyn reaches over to turn on the radio, perhaps leaning unnecessarily far into Mildred’s personal space, but Mildred doesn’t lurch away. The air around them swirls with a tune Gwendolyn recognizes.

“I just love Ella Fitzgerald, don’t you?” she sighs, turning her head towards Mildred. The other woman finally turns her gaze to meet Gwendolyn’s through her glasses, and Gwen’s eyes trace Mildred’s face as it’s framed by the setting sun behind them. She’s just so classically beautiful, with her high cheekbones and full lips, and it’s honestly a crime she’s not married yet. Gwendolyn knows if she were a man she’d be proposing on the spot. So that’s another clue.

“Oh, sure, she’s fantastic,” Mildred murmurs, but the way she shifts in her seat betrays her.

“Not a fan of Miss Fitzgerald?” Gwendolyn gasps in mock astonishment.

Mildred smiles with her whole mouth this time. It’s the first kind of emotion she’s shown Gwendolyn since they met in the kitchen earlier, and it’s dazzling. But it’s gone as soon as it escapes, covered by Mildred’s gloved hand, and Gwendolyn immediately makes it her goal to see that smile again before the end of the night.

“It’s just that I haven’t listened to her much is all,” Mildred explains.

“Well, then we shall make up for lost time,” says Gwendolyn, and turns the radio up. She really does love this song, and dramatically mouths the words as if she’s Ella herself. It’s goofy, foolish even, not exactly Gwendolyn’s style, but Mildred’s lips curl up and then part and Gwendolyn doesn’t mind a bit. She lifts one hand from the wheel with a grand flourish as the trumpets stab, approximating their sounds with her voice, and Mildred giggles -- actually _giggles_ \-- at the growly “bwa da daaa” Gwendolyn fills the air around them with. It’s the most glorious sound in the world, and Gwendolyn can’t help turning and leaning to sing the final line directly to Mildred.

_“Now that your lips are burning mine, I’m beginning to see the light.”_

Mildred’s smile tightens, nostrils flaring, and she draws back just barely. God, how Gwendolyn wishes she could see her eyes, because she can’t tell if Mildred is disgusted with Gwendolyn or nervously excited at the woman crooning such words to her. Without the eyes it all looks the same, and Gwendolyn’s face falls, because she has to assume the worst. She just has to, for her own safety and for Mildred’s dignity. 

Swallowing dryly, she turns back to the road and curses herself for being so forward. There have only been a few moments like these in her life, moments where she miscalculated or was simply too drunk to notice the difference, but usually the woman isn’t already in Gwendolyn’s car halfway to an _oyster bar,_ of all places.

The goddamn oyster bar. Gwendolyn wonders if Mildred’s picked up on the hidden implications yet, and what the ramifications might be if she has. Perhaps they should just go home. _I mean_ \-- perhaps she should drop Mildred off at the motel and then go home _alone._ Her thoughts are swirling like the cocktail she so desperately needs right now, and she flexes her fingers on the steering wheel.

Her mind is going so fast that she almost doesn’t hear Mildred say, “That was a pretty song.”

There’s a pause. The car is silent save for the radio announcer droning on and on about some ball game coming up. 

Gwendolyn forces herself to exhale, slowly, and smile. “A pretty song for a pretty drive.” _With a pretty girl,_ she thinks, and she’d have said it out loud if not for the events of the last thirty seconds. Another song starts up, one Gwendolyn has heard before but doesn’t know the words to.

“Oh! I know this one,” Mildred says, relaxing into a smile.

“Really?”

“Sure. Billie Holliday.”

She finally -- _finally_ \-- takes off her sunglasses and looks towards Gwendolyn, who nearly chokes. The woman is still tight and unreadable, but _my God,_ she’s even more beautiful without the plastic covering her big brown eyes.

“Right.” Gwendolyn’s trying to reconcile this exchange with the one they’ve just had, and when Mildred begins to sing along Gwendolyn wonders what kind of God would put this woman in her car to torture her like this. 

_“All of me… Why not take all of me…”_

**Author's Note:**

> say hey on twitter @sadbutchhours i need more ratched/ahs/paulson friends!! hope you enjoyed :)


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